Jarring, jarring.

So, I spent the past few hours talking to a friend. It's nearing finals week at school, people are stressed, and this poor guy just about had it with his school work and wanted to kill himself. He's been battling depression for a while, but never bothered to seek professional help. I managed to convince him to call a help line, so it looks like the crisis was averted for the moment.

Now, why am I typing all of this out? I definitely didn't mind being there for aforementioned friend during his time of need. I also understand how university life can be completely alienating. Something about the conversation just dragged me deep, deep, deep down in the dumps and sent me off in the lands of existential angst. I guess it's the age-old thing problem I have of feeling like I'm constantly working hard towards a goal that never quite gets realized. I'm still working 40 hours a week, going to school double time, and then some, but the whole being broke thing never fucking changes. I never seem to manage to do enough. And it makes me question whether or not there's a point to what I'm doing, or whether or not it's all been a waste.

Then there's the issue of me constantly helping out fucktards at the university who claim to be my friends. Proofing papers, loaning things to people. I'm the first person people hit up when they need a paper proof or a concept clarified. Last fucking person they'll give a fuck about on any other occasion.

Whine, whine. Bitch, bitch.

Fuck. I guess I just needed to do that. I guess it's back to my angst and papers. Only one more semester left. :smash: